


not fine

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy clomping around on crutches, F/M, Mr. Cheddar, TripleAgent!Rumlow, ambiguous emotions, funfetti chocolate chip cookies, various STRIKE agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2020-11-27 21:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20955305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: She'd told Jane she would be fine dealing with some torn ligaments on her own. But Darcy was not fine. She was a mess. A crying in public mess.Even more messy? Her work nemesis deciding to take an interest in her well-being.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing! follow me on tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yespumpkindoodlesthings

Darcy was having the _worst_ possible day. She’d fallen and torn several ligaments in her ankle. Her foot--enclased in one of those soft boots for the next six to eight weeks--hurt, Jane was out of town, and Darcy was trying to get in the door at their SHIELD facility, but her key card wasn’t working. “Fuck,” she muttered, waving it again and trying to balance on her crutches. She had told Jane to stay on Asgard with Thor for a long-planned vacation, that she would be fine. She could totally handle it. "I'll be fine," she'd told Jane over the Nine Realms phone Jane had rigged up.

But Darcy was not fine. 

She was exhausted. She was a mess. She waved the card another time and then somebody cleared their throat behind her. “I can’t turn around,” she said wearily. An arm came around, a gloved male hand waved a card, the door light changed from red to green, and Brock Rumlow stepped forward and opened the door so she could hobble in. He tilted his head and she knew he was looking at her, even though she couldn’t quite turn to get a good look at him, because that meant moving her knee. 

“Nice boot, Lewis,” he said in a cavalier voice. “What’d you do, trip on some gummy bears?” Rumlow was always sarcastic with her. He needled her about her hobbies, her hats, and her liberal arts degree. She was robbed of the opportunity for a good, solid mean glare, too, because turning would be painful. Damn crutches.

“Fuck you,” Darcy said bitterly. Normally, she could keep up a sharp line of banter with him, but not today. She was too tired to play their little game.

“So, it was gummy bears, huh? Not chocolate milk?” he called, as she moved slowly away. 

Her ankle was twinging when she sat down in her cubicle with a huff of pain. Darcy hurt. Then she fielded some emails. Fury had rotated her into the admin pool to help with their post-Triskelion staffing losses while Jane was away. But Darcy was hopeless at figuring out SHIELD’s complicated chain of command protocols. She’d gotten several hostile, scolding emails from different middle-management types because she’d skipped over some bureaucratic step and the emails should have gone to Assistant So-and-so first. Usually, she would have been able to say “whoops” out loud, laugh it off, and hit forward on the email. But everything was hitting her hard, she realized, as her eyes filled with sharp tears.

It was really embarrassing to cry at your desk, Darcy thought, as she got up to flee to the ladies’ room. She was clomping down the hallway on her crutches, trying not to descend into a full blown sob fest, when Rumlow walked out of one of one of the STRIKE offices. “Where you going?” he called out. It startled her enough that she almost lost her balance. She was clinging precipitously to her crutches when an arm went around her waist. “Drop the crutch,” Rumlow said. “I got you.”

Something about that made her burst into tears. She was sobbing in the hallway and people were staring when Rumlow carried her into his office. He sat her on a battered couch. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Elevate your leg.” She was crying too hard to talk. Rumlow propped up a pillow behind her, then moved her leg up onto the couch cushion. “Take it easy,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He sat a box of tissues in her lap.

Then he left her alone in his office. Darcy cried for a few minutes, dabbed her eyes with Kleenex and finally looked around the room. She should really get the heck out of here, she thought. She looked around again, then realized something. Rumlow had taken her crutches. “What the fuck?” she said.

He came back pushing a wheelchair. “You took my crutches,” she said in an accusatory voice.

“Yeah,” he said, “medical gave you the wrong fucking size, you need smaller ones. They’re coming this afternoon.”

“Okay,” she said, shifting to reach for the chair. She’d go back to her desk.

“Nope,” Rumlow scolded, wheeling it out of her grasp and pushing her back on the sofa. “You’re working in my office until you tell me what the fuck is going on, Lewis.”

“I’m tired,” she said. It hurt to say it. Her eyes did that sharp _ I’m gonna cry _ feeling again. “My ankle hurts, I can’t take a nice hot bath, I fucked up some things yesterday, so I got a mean email from Reynolds in Logistics and then Gunderson in Legal, okay? I was going to cry in the bathroom like a normal, but you startled me,” she complained. 

“A normal?” he said.

“That’s what normal people do, they go cry in a stall,” she said.

“That’s disgusting,” he said. “Women cry in the bathroom?”

“We wash our hands,” she hissed. “It’s perfectly fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” he said. “Stay here, I’ll get your stuff.”

“What stuff?” she called, as he shut the door. Darcy sighed. She was clearly trapped. She’d have to gnaw off her boot like a deranged squirrel and risk the ligament to get away, she thought. Damn it.

Rumlow brought her back a mobile desk, Reese’s Pieces, a Diet Coke, and a laptop. “You want some scotch in that?” he asked, adjusting the desk to her height.

“Ew,” Darcy said. “That’s old man booze.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding.

“No thank you,” she said. He flashed her a grin. 

“It gets the job done, kiddo.”

“I’m on ibuprofen,” she said.

“No liquor for you, then,” he said, pointing with his finger. “Shoulda told me that first.”

“Pffffht,” she said. 

She spent the day eating candy and answering emails while he met with his STRIKE team members. A series of buff, terrifying-looking dudes gave her the side eye. “New assistant needs training in proper gym form,” Rumlow said dryly at one point.

“Har har,” Darcy said. “Very funny, Brock, you schmuckdoodle.”

“She--” one of the Alpha guys said, looking shocked. Rumlow raised an eyebrow. The guy left.

“What was that about?” Darcy asked. “Does nobody sass you?”

“Nope,” he said, “nobody gives me lip but you, Lewis.” He called in the next agent. Darcy had been through six discussions of the newest training requirements, when performance evals would be, and mission plans when she had a realization.

“He was actually scared of you,” Darcy said out loud. “They’re all scared of you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “They are. You need to pee or anything?”

“No,” she said, eating another Reese’s Pieces. She looked at him. He was looking back at her intently. “Okay, yes, I have to pee.”

“I’ll wheel you to the bathroom, princess,” he said.

“Fine.”

“I could see you wiggling,” he added, chuckling. 

“Shut up.” She typed her next email with a little more force than necessary. After he brought her back from the bathroom.

  


At five-twenty-eight, he stood up, stretched, and looked at her. “My place or yours?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“You need minding,” he told her. “Where would you like to be chaperoned, huh?”

“Does that make you my freaking male nurse?” she said sarcastically.

“I was thinking male nanny,” he said casually, reaching for his gym bag. “But that works, too. New trend, right? You can tell everybody you have a hot caretaker,” he said in a dry voice.

“You’re not that attractive,” Darcy lied. He snorted. 

“You’re just mean,” he said. 

They ended up at her place. He teased her about the stuffed animals on her bed, but he also brought her food, medicine, and dragged a armchair in from the living room to sit with her and watch movies. “I could stay in the living room,” she said.

“Bed’s better for your foot,” he said, propping his feet up on the other side of her bed. “You need another drink?” he asked. She shook her head. “Okay,” he said, leaning his head back against the chair.

“I’m not having sex with you,” she said, a thought occurring to her. He snorted. 

“Yeah, that’s what I do, Lewis. Chase injured women half my age,” he said, without opening his eyes. “Go to sleep.” 

“Fine.” 

Darcy fell asleep. When she woke up, he was snoring in the chair. She looked at her laptop, checking for emails from Jane. Instead, she found apology notes from Reynolds and Gunderson. “What?” Darcy said out loud. Then she took one of her stuffed animals--a sock monkey--and tossed it at Rumlow. “Hey!” she said. He bolted upright. “You’re intimidating people now?” Darcy said.

“What?” 

“I’ve got emails from Reynolds and Gunderson!” she said.

“Yeah?” he said. He rubbed his face sleepily. “So? They apologized.”

“But now they know I was upset and stuff,” she grumbled. “How did you do that?”

“I borrowed your method: I went over to their offices and looked at ‘em mean,” he said, smirking. He picked up her sock monkey and looked at it curiously. “How do you feel?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” she said. “I don’t understand.”

“Makes two of us,” he said noncommittally. He was looking at the monkey, not her.

“You make fun of my hats,” she added. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll have plenty of new sock monkey and, uh, grilled cheese pillow material to fuck with you about,” he said, looking wry. Darcy glared, then readjusted her grilled cheese triangle pillow. “Hats are down the list now,” he said, chuckling.

“His name is Mr. Cheddar,” she said haughtily. Rumlow burst out laughing. 

“You named a pillow? Who names a fucking pillow?” he asked, once he’d stopped laughing and pointing. Darcy had crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I name everything,” she insisted. “And pointing is rude.” He rubbed his jaw and looked at her with an ambiguous expression.

“You need help with anything? Food? Bathroom?” he asked. 

“This is so humiliating,” she said. At his look, she added, “that you’re helping me go to the bathroom.”

“Yeah, but you’ll get used to it,” he said. 

“What am I getting used to?” Darcy said, as he got up to help her to the bathroom. He didn’t answer.

It turned out that what she was getting used to was Rumlow’s constant assistance. He arranged for her to work in his office during the day and then came home with her at night, crashing in her armchair or on her couch. He even wheeled her down to the STRIKE gym while he worked out and trained with his team. That wasn’t so bad. The guys and one girl were really nice to her. They started bringing her Get Well Soon bears and M&Ms after she flirted with them. And she was way less tired now, since Rumlow insisting on carrying her stuff and pushing her around. Agent Rodriguez was wheelchair racing her down the hallway outside the sparring room one afternoon when Rumlow stuck his head out, expression dark. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped.

“Wheelchair racing?” Darcy said innocently. Then she realized he wasn’t glaring at her.

“We were just having some fun, boss,” Rodriguez said. He’d gone a little pale and he was about five times more tan than Darcy.

“She could have gotten hurt,” Rumlow said. “Use your damn head.”

“Don’t harrass Jimmy,” Darcy said defensively. “You’re being an asshole, Brock.” Rodriguez looked startled at that.

“No, no,” he said eagerly. “Nobody’s an asshole. I’ll go--go clean my guns--some reports.” He stood up, looking nervous.

“What do you do? Beat them?” Darcy said, as Rodriguez fled. Rumlow didn’t answer; he wheeled her back into the gym. “All these scary guys are scared of you.” He chuckled.

“I’m the scariest guy. Stay where I can see you,” he said.

“I’m beginning to feel like a prisoner,” Darcy called as he walked back to the ring. “Can’t you make everybody take their shirts off? I’m bored!” In the ring, one of the guys grinned and pried off his tee. “Thank you, Mike!” Darcy said, giving him a thumbs up. Agent Holland did it next. Darcy laughed. “I love your sports bra, Jen!” she yelled. 

“You’re making my team silly,” Brock said to her that night. He was in her kitchen. She’d whined until he agreed to make her some fettuccine with parmesan. Darcy had figured out that sticking out her lip and making sad faces was the key to getting him to do things for her. 

“Yeah?” she said, grinning. “Does that upset you?” He came out of the kitchen with a bowl of pasta.

“No,” he said. “They’ve decided you’re their mascot. Here you go, fettuccine with butter, parmesan, and little to no nutritional value.” That was his idea of a joke. She stuck her tongue out and took the bowl. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, going back into the kitchen. He was probably eating some carb-less thing with beef or chicken breasts and steamed vegetables.

“This is good,” she said, after her first bite. 

“I put nutmeg in it. You sure you don’t want chicken?” he called out. 

“What about cookies from that cookie delivery place?” she called back.

“Lewis--” he grumbled.

“I’m injured! And they have chocolate chip funfetti!”

“Jesus,” she heard him mutter.

One movie and several cookies later, Darcy fell asleep on his shoulder. She woke up when he shifted her off the couch and carried her to bed. “Hey,” he said. Darcy blinked at him as he set her down and then began arranging her blankets.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she wondered aloud. He’d never answered her question. Rumlow was adjusting her feet so she wasn’t too close to the edge. He sighed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“You are a very confusing person,” she said, wiggling. He looked up at her. Something shifted in his expression.

“Anybody tell you about what happened to me with HYDRA?” he said in a quiet voice.

“You were a triple agent? Heroically?” Darcy said. He grimaced.

“I had...injuries after the Uprising. Helen Cho fixed me up. But I spent about a year doing extra-legal stuff for Fury under my Crossbones alias--”

“That was you?” Darcy said. She’d seen a news special about the wanted guy. “I thought he died in Nigeria?”

“Cap helped me fake my death,” he said wryly.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” he said. He got quiet again. ”Hill broke me out of that hospital,” he added. His expression was sober. Darcy waited for him to continue. He merely sighed.

“I still don’t get why that means you want to push my wheelchair around at work, though,” she said. 

“You’re by yourself,” he said, as if that explained something. “Get some rest,” he told her. “I’m taking the couch tonight.”

“Okay,” she said, feeling like he was avoiding her. Weird.

She did not get him at all. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Are Clint and Natasha here yet?” Darcy asked for the second time that day. “Can we go say hello?” 

“They’re in debriefings,” Brock said, not looking up from his laptop. She was on the couch in Brock’s office. Darcy had met Clint in New Mexico. They were buddies. She'd been hoping that Rumlow would let her go play. But he wasn’t letting her go anywhere without his supervision, since she was still in her wheelchair and boot. She got the distinct feeling that he didn’t want her to hang out with Clint or Tasha. She’d been forced to get creative as a means of escape--creatively irritating. She’d done everything she could think of to annoy Rumlow this morning. She’d eaten donuts loudly first. He’d merely looked up at her. “Did you just moan, Lewis?” he’d asked, reading glasses in hand. 

“No,” she’d said, then she listened to Adele _ without _ her earbuds, hoping to induce a masculinity panic. Rumlow had remained unmoved. 

“She has a great voice,” he’d said mildly, in the middle of the first song. He was so frustrating! It had been sixty-plus minutes of her snacking, crumpling things, humming to “Rolling in the Deep,” and sighing, without success. She was still stuck here. An idea occurred to her as her gaze drifted over to Brock again.

“Why do you wear reading glasses?” she said.

“I’m old,” he said dryly. He actually looked good in them, which was stupid, she thought. The tortoiseshell looked great with his coloring. And his cheekbones. 

“But shouldn’t the Cradle have cured that?” she asked. He looked up at her, his expression surprised.

“Huh,” he said, grabbing a Post-It. “That’s a good question for Helen,” he said. “I’ll make a note. Thanks, Lewis.”

Darcy sighed. 

She was trapped here. She wiggled. “Something wrong? You need more ibuprofen?” he asked.

“No,” she said sullenly.

“You’re sure?”

“It’s my bra digging into my back,” Darcy said, annoyed.

“Take it off,” he said calmly. 

“I’m not doing that here,” she said.

“I won’t look, Lewis.”

“I’d feel better if I could get up and move around,” she said. “What if I--?”

“As soon as I’m done with these reports,” he said. “Then we’ll go see if they’re out of their meetings.”

“Why can’t I go now? I’d be safe inside the building. I haven’t seen Clint or Tasha in ages,” she began.

“No.”

“Look, I know Jane sent you that thank you note and an Asgardian dagger thingy for taking care of me”--Jane had been happy to hear someone was helping her and Thor had sent Rumlow a scarily fancy golden knife, to Rumlow’s evident delight--”but aren’t you taking this a bit far?” she pointed out.

“Barton’d have you crawling in the vents,” Rumlow grumbled. “He’s totally a bad influence.”

“You can’t parent me forever,” Darcy said grimly. “One day, this boot will be off--”

“That’s the idea,” he said, in that same mild voice. He rolled his mouse. She was so sick of that noise. 

“I am a grown woman, Brock Rumlow. I know my own mind. I am educated, determined and--and capable,” Darcy said, trying to sound severe. Stern. Intimidating. Like Jane when that Swedish conference tried to limit her panel topics. “You cannot hold me prisoner like this.”

“I promised Foster I’d take care of you,” he said. “That means no unsupervised playing with Clint. You’re not a prisoner, you just have to wait for me.” Darcy huffed in frustration. Jane was his trump card. 

“Sometimes, I hate you,” Darcy muttered, realizing he wasn’t going to bend.

“You have no idea how often you hear that when you’re the boss,” Rumlow said. 

“Sure,” Darcy said sarcastically. She tried to rest, closing her eyes, but she was irritated. She wasn’t a child! Also, the sound of Rumlow typing and scrolling and even quietly breathing really got on her nerves. Darcy picked up her phone and sighed again. What could she do to him, she wondered? An idea hit her like Mew Mew coming through a glass window. 

Tasha was here.

Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD’s matchmaker in chief, incurable romantic, relentless fixer upper of colleagues, was on premises. 

And Brock Rumlow was very, _ very _single. 

Darcy grinned and started typing a text asking Tasha to set him up with someone. Anyone. She told the other woman that Rumlow was so lonely, so bored, he’d been helping her with her recovery. And she really wanted to repay him. Truly! He needed help and Natasha was the perfect person. And he was so good with her, imagine how he would be with a girlfriend? She added in some details about how patient, considerate, and careful he was being with her. By the time she was done, Darcy was elated. 

“Lewis,” Rumlow said abruptly, “why are you smiling?”

“Something I read about online,” she lied. “Have you ever petted an alpaca?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he said, tapping the keyboard. They lapsed into silence. Darcy tried not to giggle. “Did you want to pet an alpaca?” he asked suddenly. “I’ll take you.”

“So, I can pet wildlife, but I can’t hang out with Clint?” Darcy said.

“Yes,” he said. Firmly. Darcy’s phone dinged. She smiled. 

**Comrade, I Have Two Eggs: ** I am glad to help, _ milaya. _

**World’s Okayest Assistant: **Great! Can we start today?

**Comrade, I Have Two Eggs:** I will send you prospects.

“Why are you smiling?” Rumlow repeated. 

“It's Natasha. I got her to watch _ Ninotchka _ and she’s changed her screen name to a joke. Have you seen it?” Darcy asked.

“No.”

“Greta Garbo plays a terrifying Soviet woman who is sent to Paris and falls in love,” Darcy explained. “There’s a funny joke about Soviet egg shortages and secret omelette parties. This is the movie they advertised with a tagline about Greta Garbo finally getting to laugh, I think? Because she was famous for being in a bunch of serious historical dramas.”

“Huh,” Rumlow said. “Terrifying Soviet woman who rarely laughs. Sounds like Romanoff.”

“Oh, I don’t think Natasha is that terrifying. Do you?” Darcy said innocently. 

  


Rumlow finally let her go see Clint that afternoon. Clint offered to take her outside to shoot and Rumlow gave it a begrudging nod of approval. “She’s gotta stay in the chair, Barton,” he said.

“Geez,” Clint said in Darcy’s ear, “somebody’s all serious.” He pushed Darcy a little faster than necessary, just to make Rumlow hurry. Darcy snickered, then whispered, as they exited the building. Rumlow--stopped by a colleague--was fifteen feet back.

“Thor sent him a knife for babysitting me, I think he wants more of them,” Darcy explained. Clint visibly pouted.

“I babysat you in Puente Antiguo and didn’t get a knife! Why does he get a knife?” he asked.

“I dunno,” she said, shrugging. She heard a door slam and looked back. Rumlow was trailing behind them, like he was Darcy’s personal Secret Service agent. He’d even put sunglasses on. "I can't get more than twenty feet from him, though."

“He thinks he’s all cool in them aviators,” Clint said. She glanced back at Brock again. 

“Eh,” she said. “It’s the sunglasses.” She wasn’t going to admit that he looked hotter than the sun in his SHIELD t-shirt, tactical pants, and heavy boots. She didn't care if he was technically her hot caretaker. She wanted to have fun, dammit!

Darcy was shooting arrows in her wheelchair with Clint giving instructions when she saw a flash of red in her peripheral vision. She put the bow down to shield her eyes in the sunshine. Natasha had come to stand next to Brock at the edge of the target shooting field. They were having a discussion. “I have Tasha trying to set him up with somebody,” she whispered to Clint. “Get him off my back.”

“Good plan, foolproof,” Clint said. “She loves settin’ people up.”

“Right?” Darcy said.

"High five?" Clint offered.

"Soon, I'll be able to go to the bathroom unchaperoned!" she said, excitedly, as they touched hands.

"That's weird, Darce," Clint said, frowning in confusion. He looked at Rumlow.

"I'm telling you, I can't go anywhere. He's holding me hostage for shiny Asgardian weapons," she told Clint.

Only it wasn’t as foolproof as Darcy had anticipated. Natasha walked up to them and shook her head slightly. “He has declined my help,” she said dryly.

“You let him?” Darcy said.

“Yes,” Natasha said. “He doesn’t want to be set up with anyone new.”

“No way,” Clint said, actually dropping an arrow. “You can’t quit matchmaking, Tasha!” 

“He is not a good candidate,” Natasha said.

“Did he threaten you?” Darcy said. “I think he scares people.”

“He’s not that scary,” Clint said. “He just makes faces.”

“You can’t just let him push everyone around,” Darcy said, turning her head to look at Brock. He was standing at the edge of the field, talking to the commander of STRIKE Epilson. 

“He explained that he is far too busy taking care of you to date at the moment,” Natasha said coolly. Darcy was occupied with glaring at Brock and didn't catch the significant glance that she gave Clint.

“Uh-huh,” Clint said. “Busy, huh?”

“Lies,” Darcy muttered. “He spends all his time making me take naps and scolding me about all the sugar I eat. He has plenty of time to date. He stays at my house every night. He could date _ plenty_."

"Every night, huh?" Clint said. "Well, I guess you ain't dating, either?"

"God, no. Dad over there would scare my dates off," she said, still glaring in his direction.

"Does he ever ask you to call him Da--" Clint began, but Tasha elbowed him and shook her head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Mate,” Jack said, stepping off the quinjet and seeing Brock waiting. The two men hugged. Brock clapped him on the back.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” Brock told him.

“Been too long,” Jack said. While Brock was off being Crossbones and stealing back equipment and materials, Jack had been tasked with busting HYDRA bases in the Asia-Pacific sector. He been promoted to run his own team. They hadn’t been able to see each other much in the ensuing years. “You look well,” Jack said, studying Brock’s scarless face. “Right as rain.” 

“Cho’s a miracle worker,” Brock said, shrugging. “Come on in, we’ll have lunch.” 

“Sure, mate,” he replied, before a new idea occurred to him. Jack grinned. “When am I going to meet your little sheila?” Jack said, needling him on purpose. He made his voice extra cheery and accented. He’d heard about the girl, the Asgardian dagger, and Brock’s unusual quasi-roommate situation, although Brock insisted there was no romance.

“I keep telling you,” Brock said, “it ain’t like that. Lewis is just a friend. When you meet her, you’ll get it.”

“Too right,” Jack said, still cheerfully. He was wildly curious. He’d decided she must not be attractive. It wasn’t like Brock to hold back where women were concerned. Not in the past, anyhow. Jack was thinking about that when they went inside and he was greeted by many of his old DC colleagues. Brock took him around to say hello to everyone Jack might have known at Triskelion. It was pleasant to see old friends under non-emergency circumstances. Maria Hill even gave him a hug. He assumed he’d be introduced to Darcy Lewis, but she was nowhere to be found. How curious, Jack thought. They sat down in the cafeteria. “Where is this Lewis woman now?” Jack asked, still feeling as nosy as an old chook. Brock paused--his sandwich was halfway to his mouth--and sighed heavily. 

“I left her with Barton,” he said. “Which feels like a mistake. He’ll get her in trouble.”

“In trouble?” Jack asked. In his family, in trouble meant pregnant. Barton had a wife, didn’t he? Jack remembered that Mrs. Barton lived somewhere off the grid. Undisclosed location, all that.

“Have her climbing the vents and hurting her leg again,” Brock clarified.

“Oh. Sounds like Barton,” Jack said.

“She’s highly suggestible. Imaginative. She has enthusiasms for, uh, things,” Brock said.

“What kinds of things?” Jack said. Brock’s expression was comical. Clearly, her relationship with Barton was more shenanigans than sex. 

“Coloring books, glitter, those weighted blankets, stuffed animals, hygge--” Brock said.

“Hoo-gah?” Jack said.

“It’s this Norwegian coziness thing, she buys a lot of blankets and twinkle lights,” Brock said, taking a bite of his sandwich. Jack felt his grin go so wide, his cheeks hurt.

“You’re an expert in all this now, eh?” he asked. “For your woman friend?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brock grumbled around a mouthful of food. He waved aggressively. Jack watched him chew. “I know what you’re implying, Kangaroo Jack,” he said finally. “We aren’t--I--look, she’s hurt, all right? I saw her trying to get into the building and then she cried in the hallway and she was trying to do all this shit alone,” he said.

“She cried?” Jack said, trying to follow his conversational thread.

“It was fucking pathetic, all right? Pitiful,” Brock said. “Couldn’t just let her suffer like that, all alone.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said.

“Don’t give me that fucking look,” Brock said. “We’re not a couple, okay? You couldn’t find somebody less like me. She likes penguins and shit. She doesn’t even have a gym.”

“You’re kidding,” Jack said lightly. “No gym? How does she live?”

“She eats all these carbs and she never exercises,” Brock said in a horrified voice. Jack saw the agent sitting at the next table look over, grinning. Just then, there was an announcement over the PA system:

_ “Commander Rumlow to medical, Commander Rumlow to medical,” _the voice said.

“Shit,” Brock said. “Goddamned Barton.” He stood up. “I’m her emergency contact while Foster’s on Asgard. Fuck. I gotta go, Jack.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jack said, eager to see Clint Barton get his ass kicked. It was going to be fun. 

It turned out that Barton was the one in the hospital bed. A brunette in a wheelchair was sitting to the right of his elbow, when Brock came barreling through the door. “All right, what the fuck--” he said, then stopped. “Barton?”

“She shot me!” Clint said. He had a bandage on his arm and another across his forehead.

“Just a little bit,” the woman said. This must be Darcy. Jack took a good look at her. She wasn’t flashy-looking at first glance--she had on glasses, a modest shirt, and leggings, but there were distinct signs of beauty. Jack was gay, but he could still spot things that might attract Brock. Creamy skin. A full mouth stained with berry colored lipstick. Her dark hair was long and glossy. Beside him, Jack noted that Brock had relaxed in his peripheral vision.

“How do you shoot somebody a little bit? It’s like being half pregnant,” Barton complained.

“I just grazed you. The doctor called it a flesh wound,” she said defensively. She looked at Brock. “A flesh wound’s not awful, is it?”

“It feels awful,” Clint muttered.

“Have you eaten?” Brock asked her, ignoring Barton’s complaints. “It’s time for your medicine.”

“Jen brought me food from the food truck,” she said. She smiled at Jack. It was a good smile. “Hi,” she said.

“Good,” Brock said, nodding. “This is Jack.”

“Jack Rollins,” Jack supplied, shaking her hand. “It’s great to meet you, darl.”

“Oh my God, you’re Australian! That’s so cute! Jane and I love Australians,” she said. “She has a whole thing for men from Australia, they’re her weakness. Thor even went there to get pointers on how to impress Jane. That’s when he learned to surf and got into that football you have with all the tackling or whatever?”

“Australian rules football?” Jack said.

“That’s the one!” she said, beaming. Great smile, Jack mentally corrected.

“Don’t fall out,” Brock scolded her. She’d leaned forward in her chair to shake his hand. Her nails had glitter polish with little hearts, he noticed, when she put her hand back on the armrest. She made a face at Brock.

“And I had vegetable chips!” she said, as if this was a point in her favor. 

“And I had vegetable chips,” Clint mocked. “Is anybody going to acknowledge me? I was shot.”

“It’s great to see you, Barton,” Jack said politely. “How’s your people?”

“Great,” Clint said, beaming. “They’re all great.”

“How’d you hit your head?” Brock asked.

“I fell down when she shot me!” Clint said.

“They were your arrows,” Darcy said. “I apologized like twelve times outside!”

“She kept saying _ ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry’ _in this chipmunk voice,” Clint said to Jack. 

“This is why I can’t even leave you with him for an hour,” Brock grumbled, moving around to push her chair.

“We’re leaving?” she said, looking alarmed.

“You’re leaving me?” Clint said at the same time.

“She needs her meds, I’ll call Romanoff to sit with you,” Brock said.

“I don’t wanna go,” Darcy said. “Brock…”

“Tasha’ll make fun of me,” Clint said. “You can’t tell her!”

“Tough,” Brock said.

“I’ll stay with you, mate,” Jack said to Clint.

“Awesome,” Clint said. “See, I can trust him!” Jack caught Brock’s fractional eyeroll. Darcy was visibly pouting in the wheelchair. She glared up at him and Brock seemed to be purposefully ignoring it.

“Thank you, brother,” Brock said, stopping to squeeze Jack’s shoulder. “You wanna have dinner with us tonight?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, smiling brightly at Jack. “Come hang out with us.” She looked at Brock. “If I’m allowed to have guests…?” Her voice was arch. Slyly, Brock flicked her ear. “Hey, quit!” she said. “You’re sooooo annoying.”

“What about eight?” Brock said.

“Sure,” Jack said. “Sounds like a plan.”

“I’ll text you the address,” he said, pushing her towards the door.

“Bye, Clint!” she called back. “I’m really sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Clint said. 

“You come to dinner, too!” she said. Brock sighed.

“I heard that,” Clint said. “I won’t go where I’m not wanted.”

“I want you there,” Darcy said, trying to elbow Brock, who dodged her. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Stand still.”

“No. You’ve got sharp elbows,” he told Darcy. He grinned at her, then looked at Clint. “You’re invited, Barton,” Brock said. He turned Darcy to exit the door. 

“Good,” Clint said. 

“We can carpool,” Jack said. “If you’re on meds.”

“See you both, then,” Brock said. Darcy was waving as the door swung shut. 

“She shot you, huh?” Jack said.

“It really only is a little,” Clint admitted. Jack listened as the sound of their voices faded. Darcy was clearly doing all the talking. He looked at Clint. Clint was smirking. 

“How long’s he been in love with her?” Jack asked.

“Shit, I don’t even think he knows,” Clint said. “Tasha says he’s in denial.” 

“Sounds about right,” Jack said. “She’s young, though.”

“She’s thirty-one, she just seems younger ‘cause she wears college student clothes,” Clint said. He started to laugh.

“What?”

“If she really wanted to fuck him up,” Clint said. “She could. I’ve seen her in grown up clothes. I wish I had a photo of this dress she wore to Tony Stark’s New Year’s Eve party, Rumlow’d have a stroke.”

“Really?” Jack said.

“I know women ain’t your thing, man, but she’s got hidden assets,” Clint cracked. Then he started to giggle. “Rumlow would be so messed up. You think he acts like a Rottweiler now---”

“I think your pain pills are kicking in,” Jack said, sighing. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Your parachute malfunctioned?” Darcy said, looking at Brock across the dinner table in horror. Brock’s former second-in-command and Clint had kept her laughing with insane stories of SHIELD accidents, mishaps, and lost items.

“He managed the landing, but he was out of commission for weeks,” Jack said.

“It was no big deal, everybody has accidents,” Brock said dismissively.

“Accidents?” Clint said. “I have never had an accident in my life. All my broken bones were one-hundred percent intentional, man.” He waved his beer bottle airily. Jack snorted.

“Don’t make me tell the story about you and that cactus, Barton,” Brock said dryly. He’d been out of sorts all afternoon.

“Ooooh, tell me about the cactus!” Darcy said. At least Clint and Jack were fun, Darcy caught herself thinking peevishly, as they finished dinner. Brock was probably mad because they’d killed his scotch. And Darcy’s stash of now-undrinkable because medication beers. Plus, a bottle of red wine. A lot of their stories involved being drunk and stupid. Or stupid drunk. Brock wasn’t drinking which--Darcy was realizing--was something he didn’t do much of. Since he’d started taking care of her, she’d only seen him have a beer or something? But Jack talked like he could drink him under the table. Weird. She frowned at Brock as Jack and Clint laughed over some field accident.

“All right, how am I getting you functional alcoholics home?” Brock announced.

“Brock!” Darcy said. “You guys can crash here.”

“Where?” Brock said.

“Couch, floor, chair, wherever,” Darcy said. “Speaking of crashing, roll me to my room, please, I want to put my pajamas on.”

“Fine,” Brock said. He sighed. Darcy wiggled in frustration with his constant overprotectiveness. She really needed to get Brock to stop fussing like this, Darcy thought. He was bringing everyone down with his paranoia. But how?

He’d rolled her into her bedroom, helped her onto the bed, and was getting her a pair of pajamas out of her tall dresser when he said something in a low, grumpy voice. “If they’re crashing here, where I am sleeping? On the damn floor?” he said. Darcy was tempted to reply that Clint could sleep on tables and counters, but then she had an idea. 

A genius idea. 

A brilliant idea.

An idea _ guaranteed _ to freak Rumlow out.

She took the pajamas he handed her. “You can sleep with me,” she said, making her voice innocent. He stared at her.

“Sleep with you?” he said, sounding stunned.

“My bed’s big enough for two people, right?” Darcy said. He was still staring. “So, we’re fine. Okay, get out, I’m getting naked. Shoo.” She waved at him. He just stood there. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“No reason,” he said, swallowing. Finally, he moved. He shut the door behind him, then called out. “I’m right here, if you need help, okay?” he said.

“You wanna help me out of my pants?” Darcy joked back, sliding her shirt off. She heard him huff.

“Don’t say that stuff around Jack,” he said through the door.

“I thought he liked boys?” she said. 

“Lewis,” Rumlow grumbled. “Behave.”

“Sure, Brock.” She rolled his name out playfully and repeated it with a giggle. “Brock.”

“Yes?” he said.

“Just saying your name!” she called out. “Don’t open the door, I’m naked!”

Darcy had realized the thing most likely to scare a terminally single man like Brock Rumlow was a needy, clingy woman who wanted a commitment. She was going to start talking about wanting to meet somebody she could settle down with. While he was stuck in her bed. Darcy tried not to giggle too much. When she came back into the living room, Jack was grinning broadly.

“He’s sleeping in your room, eh?” he asked. Clint cracked up.

“Shut up, assholes,” Brock muttered. “This is your fault.”

“Who wants to watch a movie or something?” Darcy offered, wanting Rumlow to dread being tucked up with her for as long as possible. 

“Oh, I do,” Clint said. “You kids can’t sneak off this early.” Jack snorted. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. She had to suppress her giggles. But watching Rumlow squirm out of the corner of her eye was great. Jack and Clint kept winking at her. They’d discovered Clint’s extra flask of Iowa homebrew whiskey and were taking shots.

“You’re going to pass out,” Brock scolded.

“Let them have fun,” Darcy said enviously. “I haven’t had fun in ages.”

“Maybe you’ll have fun tonight, Darce,” Clint teased. Brock swore at him in a low voice, but Darcy could tell it was just a string of curse words flowing together.

“_ Goddamnsonofabitchassholefuckinginmyshit,” _Brock muttered.

“What was that?” Jack asked. 

“Nothing,” he said.

Darcy was having her last snack and Jack and Clint were half-passed out in the living room when Brock looked at her. He looked tired. And maybe nervous. “You ready for bed?” she asked, yawning. “I’m beat.”

“Yeah,” he said. 

“I’m taking my hot cocoa,” she said. He’d made her toast before bed so she could take more ibuprofen. She was so sick of ibuprofen.

“Sure,” he said. “You’re ready?”

“Yup,” she said. 

He helped her into bed first, fussing over her pillows and if she had enough room. “Don’t compress your foot to give me more space,” he insisted. “I can always sleep on the floor.”

“I won’t,” she said. “There’s plenty of room.” She smiled at him. He looked unnerved. He went to change, then came back into the room and crawled under her blankets carefully, like her bed was rigged with landmines. Darcy watched as he lay on his back, hands visible over the covers. He wasn't moving. Legs perfectly straight, as if he was encased in a box. He didn’t look comfortable at all. She slurped her cocoa and sighed. “This is fun,” she said brightly. “Like a sleepover.”

“What?” he said.

“You and me having a sleepover,” she said. She turned over to face him.

“Don’t mess up your leg,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she told him. “I wanted to talk to you. Get your advice.”

“My advice?” he echoed.

“On something important, but personal, you know? Not something about work,” she said, shifting Mr. Cheddar and smiling brightly. “We’ve been spending all this time together and you’ve been helping me and that made me realize something.”

“What?” he said. His expression was guarded. 

“I need someone,” she said. 

“You what?” Brock said.

“A husband,” she clarified. He was staring now, so she went on. “This is why people get married, well, one reason, anyway. Because living alone gets really difficult when you’re sick or older and you get lonely…” She looked at him. Brock was blinking at her. “And having you around makes me realize how much I’m missing out because I don’t have that big commitment to someone, someone I’m there for, who’d be there for me. The whole ‘in sickness and health’ thing?”

“A husband,” he repeated.

“Or life partner, whatever,” she said, laughing internally at his dull expression. “It’s good to have someone in your life, whatever you call it. I don’t hate being alone, but you’ve got me thinking about the future. Do you ever think about the future?” she asked. “Making a commitment?” She looked at him expectantly. Brock seemed to pause, freezing like a skipping music video.

“I haven’t thought about the future...lately,” he said. “Been too busy.”

“See, I’m taking up all your time,” Darcy said. “You should think about this stuff, too. What you want, what your goals are--isn’t there something you want?” she asked. His face went a little funny then. 

“Uhhhhh,” he said.

“It’s okay if what you want is to be rid of me,” she joked, hoping to give him a little nudge. Plant the idea in his mind.

“No, no,” he said, more quickly than she expected. “I’m--I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not going to be alone, sweetheart. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, slightly flummoxed. His gaze was intense. She hadn’t anticipated him doubling-down on his vow to be her hot caretaker. “Okay,” she said. “You don’t need a break from me?”

“No,” Brock said.

“Not even a little one?” she offered.

“No.”

“You don’t want to go fishing with Jack or something? Tasha could watch me,” Darcy said. 

“What the fuck do I want to go fishing for? I’m from the Bronx,” he muttered. “No. Besides, there’s that muay thai match this weekend, I thought we could go watch that?” His expression was serious.

“Actually go to a match?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, shifting to face her. He’d relaxed, she realized. “Let’s get you out of the house more, all right? I can see you getting frustrated,” he said. “We’ll get you things to do.” To Darcy’s surprise, he reached over and cupped her cheek. His fingers grazed her cheekbone gently. “Before you accidentally maim Barton,” he added. It took Darcy a second and then she burst into laughter.

The noise must’ve attracted attention. 

“Y’all having sex in there?” Clint yelled from the living room. Brock turned his head, frowning.

“Shut the fuck up, Clint,” Brock yelled back.

“If she’s laughing, you’re doing it wrong,” Clint yelled.

“I’m gonna kick his fucking ass,” Brock said, sitting up. 

“You just told me not to maim him!” Darcy said, as he moved towards her bedroom door. Brock looked back.

“I’m just keeping you out of trouble,” he said, smirking. “I can hide his goddamn body.” 

Brock returned a few minutes later and climbed in bed with her. Darcy raised an eyebrow. She’d been listening for thumps or sounds of distress.

“Who died?” she asked.

“Nobody, I decided to be merciful,” he told her. “You got your pillows all sorted or do you need me to fluff your cupcake?” he said. She had a cupcake pillow behind her head. She had some difficulty sitting up and turning in the boot at night to move her pillows. But Rumlow wanted her to hold her ankle straight while she slept; she’d made the mistake of admitting that she slept on her stomach normally and he was paranoid she’d twist her foot without it.

"No, I'm good," she said.

"Lemme just fluff the cupcake, okay?" Brock said. He was stubborn. Darcy sighed. He reached over and adjusted the pillows behind her head. 

“Oooooooooh, I heard that,” a voice said suddenly. Clint had stuck his face into the room, like Jack Nicholson in that horror movie. “He wants to fluff your _ what?” _

“Get the fuck outta here before I break your nose, carny,” Brock barked.

“You’re the one who wants to fluff her stuff, pal,” Clint teased. Brock glared at him. 

“I swear to fucking God, Barton, I cannot take anymore of your--” he began.

“Stop it, you’re upsetting my sock monkey,” Darcy said. She didn’t like the way the veins stood out on Brock’s neck. Evidently, Clint was pissing him off? Why couldn’t she make him that mad, she wondered? Brock never told her to leave anywhere. Ever. Even if she whined.

“Don’t upset Marcel, Rumlow,” Clint chided.

“How’s he know the monkey’s name and I don’t?” Brock said, head swiveling towards Darcy. 

“That’s not his name,” Darcy said. “I wouldn’t name him _ Marcel.” _

“His shirt has stripes, he’s a mime,” Clint insisted. “All mimes are named Marcel.”

“He’s not a mime, he just likes stripes,” Darcy said.

“He has a freaking beret,” Clint said. 

“Barton, go to bed or I’ll call your wife,” Brock told him, pointing.

“Ooooooh,” Darcy said. “He’s calling Laura!” Clint fled, yelling something about the name of the monkey on _ Friends. _ Darcy snorted. “Like I’m that unoriginal,” she scoffed. She looked over at Brock. He looked tired. “Is he making you upset?” she said. 

“I’ll just be glad when it’s just us again,” he told her. “You get some rest, okay? I’m turning the light off.” He reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. 

It left Darcy free to listen to Rumlow’s breathing and wonder what “just us again” meant.

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy woke up feeling very cozy. It took her a second to realize that she wasn’t surrounded by her pillows. No, the warm wall against her back was actually Rumlow. He shifted slightly and his arm wrapped around her torso. Darcy’s first instinct was to wiggle free. Then she had a thought: what if she snuggled him more? Wouldn’t he freak out? She grinned to herself and scooted closer to him, making sure his arm was draped directly over her boobs. _ He is going to panic, _ she thought gleefully. _ Wait, I am I sexually harrassing him? _ She peered at his arm critically. _ Nah. It’s just an arm. He’s got really good arms, though. So muscly. Cool-looking tattoos, too. _She studied him briefly--the appealing parts of him that were presently squishing her tatas--and then fell asleep again.

When she woke up, she was alone. She sat up and listened. He was talking to Clint and Jack. Darcy could hear him running them out of the house. She giggled. The door slammed and the voices moved outside, muffled. Then something occurred to her. A plan. She was unsupervised. She could have Pop Tarts! Rumlow had been fussing about her sugar intake and insisting she eat some vegetables. God, he was annoying sometimes. It made her feel guilty for having Frosted Blueberry instead of like, spinach salad with actual blueberries. She got up, seized her smaller crutches, and started hopping towards the kitchen. If she was lucky, she could sneak several boxes into her bedroom, she thought, smirking.

She was so busy feeling like an accomplished sneak, she missed the bit of coffee residue on the kitchen floor from one of Clint’s ‘I guzzle straight from the pot’ episodes. One second, she was hopping gleefully. The next she’d lost her balance was falling backwards. It seemed to happen in horrifyingly slow motion. She yelled, her body tipped backward, and she flailed, unable to grab anything. As she fell backward, the back of her head conked against the edge of her laminate counter top. For a sec, she couldn’t even yell. She’d had the wind knocked out of her and could only think one word: ouch. She was lying in the coffee spill, crutches at odd angles, when Rumlow came hurrying into the kitchen. “Darcy!” he yelled.

“Ow,” she said. 

“Her pupils are fine,” Jack said, sitting next to Darcy and studying her carefully, as Rumlow drove her to medical. In her coffee stained pajamas. He’d been insistent. And threatened to kill a guilty-looking Clint several times. Vividly. His ratio of fucks to other words would have been impressive, had she not had a headache. And a tender bump on the back of her head.

“Pupils are the last fucking thing to go, you know that, she could still have a fucking concussion,” Rumlow said. “Are you holding the ice pack?”

“Yes,” Jack said. He was helping Darcy keep it placed over the bump.

“Shit. Fuck. Barton, you motherfucker, I could wring your goddamn neck. You fucking piece of fucking shit--”

“Don’t be mean,” Darcy said, feeling sorry for Clint. 

“Thanks, Darce,” Clint said quietly. “But he’s right. I fucked up.” He was having trouble looking at her.

“You better fucking believe you did. You knew she was on fucking crutches--” Rumlow began again. Darcy sighed. Loudly. That was enough to get Rumlow flicking his eyes up to her in concern in the rearview mirror. “Sweetheart?” he said.

“Please stop yelling at people, it makes my head hurt,” she said.

“Okay,” Rumlow said. He looked pissed but he got quiet. 

“She didn’t lose consciousness or appear dazed or have slurred speech, mate,” Jack said calmly. He looked at Darcy and gave her a smile. “You’ll be fine, pet. They’ll probably just have you rest, all right?” Darcy nodded. Jack didn’t want her to be scared, she realized.

“She falls again and hits her head before this swelling goes down, it could be worse,” Rumlow bit out, still sounding furious. He’d actually called ahead to get Darcy priority medical treatment. Jack glanced up at him with an odd expression.

“What?” Darcy whispered to Jack. Jack shook his head, but winked at her.

“What are you talking about back there?” Brock said. 

“Nothing, mate,” Jack said. Brock huffed in response. Once they got to SHIELD, he kicked Jack and Clint out of the car. Darcy apologized to them and Jack gave her a broad grin and told her to keep Brock in line. She watched as they walked away. 

“Don’t let go of your ice pack,” Brock scolded.

“Okay,” she said glumly. She was going to miss Jack and Clint.

“Here we are,” Brock said, when they pulled up to the medical wing. “I’m going to get your chair out, okay? Don’t move,” he barked. With a sigh, Darcy adjusted her ice pack and realized she wasn’t going to be left alone anytime soon. If only--if only she’d been more careful!

“Undone by my Pop Tarts,” she muttered to herself. “What a betrayal.” 

It got worse from there. Her concussion was mild, but the recovery instructions were _awful. _“No screen time?” Darcy said, horrified, as Rumlow wheeled her out of the office the SHIELD physician. She’d been instructed to take Tylenol instead of ibuprofen and limit her screen time. No television, no internet, no phone for a few days. Lots of naps. She was okay with naps, but who napped without television?!

“You’ll be fine,” Rumlow told her. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Darcy said, voice nearly a wail. He got out his phone. “Oh, rub it in, why don’t you?” she grumbled, as he peered at the screen.

“I’ll find you something to do, Hill’s approved my PTO,” he said.

“PTO?”

“You need supervision, obviously,” Brock told her. “I’m taking the week off. You heard the doctor. Somebody needs to make sure you’re alert every four hours for the next twenty four hours. You can’t be alone.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said glumly. “I could call someone else tho--” Brock gestured dismissively.

“I’m taking care of you,” he said. “You could probably talk someone else into letting you have your phone or some shit.” 

“That is accurate,” Darcy admitted. “Cameron Klein would totally give me my phone.” Rumlow scoffed.

“He wouldn’t disobey physicians' orders like that, Lewis,” he said. “You’d have picked the wrong patsy if you thought Klein wouldn’t stand up to you.”

“Agree to disagree,” Darcy said. She could totally woo Cameron, she thought. He snorted. “What can I do, though?” she wondered. “I’m going to be so bored.”

“Lemme think of something, sweetheart,” he said. “Put my sunglasses on, bright light’s gonna make your head hurt. I got another pair in the car.”

“McDonalds?” she said, delighted, when he stopped on the way home. “You’re stopping at McDonald’s?”

“I have an idea,” he said cryptically, eyes obscured by his backup car sunglasses. “You want some food?”

“Sure,” she said. “French fries and a chocolate milkshake, please.” He chuckled. Darcy started when he ordered and then asked about the current Happy Meal toys. “You’re getting me Happy Meal toys? All of them?” she asked, as they waited at the first window.

“No screens,” he said. “And these are two bucks a piece. My sister’s kids love ‘em.”

“Oh, that is a good idea,” she said, as they pulled up to the window. 

“I have ‘em sometimes,” he said. “Here. Take your Hello Kitties.” He passed some of them to her. She sucked in air and tore open a package.

“They’re so cute, Brock!” she said, wiggling the butterfly one’s wings by pressing her antennae. “I love them!” she said. Then she looked at him. “You know, you’d make a great dad, you’re very patient and smart about this stuff,” she told him.

“Yeah?” he said. He flashed her a grin. Then he looked sober. “You’ve gotta rest, though. No staying up playing with your toys, you’ve got a curfew now, kiddo.” 

“A curfew?” Darcy said. For a second, she thought he was being serious, then he cracked up. “Cut it out,” she complained.

“Your terrified face was cute,” he said, smirking. “Eat your french fries and then you can take a nap when we get back to your place.”

She ate her french fries obediently, but they squabbled when he got her home. First, he fussed at her when she wanted to change her pajamas and he was worried she'd fall again if he left the room. Then, they argued because she wanted him to turn on the television in the living room, so she could hear it. “I can’t just listen to the television from in here?” Darcy said, settled in her bed with Witch Hello Kitty. Her little witch’s hat lifted to reveal another cat. Darcy grinned. 

“Listen to the television?” he said, leaning back into the bedroom.

“Yeah, just hear it,” she said. “That won’t bother my head!”

“All right,” he said, sighing. “But nothing noisy, you don’t need anything loud or disturbing. I’m gonna put it on CNN.”

“Joke’s on you,” Darcy muttered. She’d studied political science, she loved CNN. “Wait, put it on MSNBC, I like Ali Veshi!” she yelled. She heard the television remote click and grinned. “We won Witch Kitty,” she whispered. She’d talked him into giving her some of her adult coloring books, markers, and stickers, too. He'd made her promise to give them back if her head started to hurt. "I'm not giving these back, either," she vowed grimly.

“I hate being woken up,” Darcy grumbled, when Brock woke her up one of several times that night. “Don’t make me answer those paramedic questions again,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. 

“You’re alert and you sound normal,” he said, chuckling. He reset his phone alarm and went back to sleep. But she couldn’t sleep. Also she was distracted by Brock’s shirtlessness. Very distracted. She tried to turn and not look at him, but her brain wouldn’t let her sleep. There were so many abs. She'd been thinking about the abs since he climbed into bed with her. He was snoring softly when Darcy had an idea. A vaguely wicked idea. Well, maybe not wicked, per se. Mildly naughty? She turned her bedside lamp on and looked at him stretched out on his back. He was so muscular, she thought, wondering if her dazzled feeling was concussion-related or if his body was just that good? She sighed, had second thoughts, debated herself, and then decided to do it.

“Lewis,” Brock said, several minutes later, “why are you putting stickers on my abs?”

“Because they’re pretty?” Darcy said. He peered down, scrunching his nose. 

“What does the gold star say?” he asked.

“It says _ you tried,” _ she said. “They’re sarcastic stickers. It’s the only ones I have, my appreciation for left ab is sincere,” she said, patting it gently. She marched Butterfly Hello Kitty towards his pectorals making a whoosh-whoosh sound with her other hand. He smirked at her. 

“You need to sleep to help your head injury heal,” he told her gently.

“You should put on a shirt if you don’t want me all distract-y,” she sassed. “I can’t sleep.”

“Someone’s irritable,” he said. “That’s a possible headache symptom. Give me all your junk, I’m making you sleep.”

“Ugh, bite me!” Darcy said, resisting his attempts to take her Hello Kitty. “We don’t think your abs are pretty anymore. Where’s my _ I don’t give a fuck _sticker?” she asked, as he pried the toy away. 

“Darcy,” he scolded. She gave up with a huff and turned the light off, wiggling so her back was to him. “Be careful of your foot,” he said.

”I’m so mad at you.”

”Maybe, but you’ll get back to liking me again,” he said, surprising Darcy by putting his arms around her. “I can wait on loving me, huh?” His voice was teasing.

_Wasn’t it? _“Sure,” Darcy said, feeling her heart race a little with the sudden jolt of nerves. _Did he really mean..? _“You tried,” she joked nervously. Her chuckle came out weird.

”Goodnight, baby.” _Baby?_

His arms settled around her waist. She could literally feel herself going wide-eyed.

”Good—goodnight,” Darcy stuttered out. _Great. _She was sweating now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, two things of note happened to me last week: I got some Hello Kitty Happy Meal toys as a birthday present because that is my brand, even though I am officially old enough to be in the target demo for Ladies' Home Journal or something.  
They are soooo cute, look at this adorableness: http://www.happymeal.com/#toys
> 
> Two, I fell--totally sober, I'm just _ that _ talented--and conked my head on the fridge. Yup, I FRIDGED myself. So, I just gave allllll my joy and my suffering to a fictional character, as one does, for exaggerated, funny storytelling purposes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

She was still puzzling out whether his interest was platonic or romantic the next morning, when he brought his work laptop to sit with her in bed. “Do you not trust me?” she asked, thinking he was suspicious that she’d look at screens without him to monitor her.

“Hmm?” he said. Darcy looked at him. He’d put on a tank top, which suggested platonic feelings, she thought; on the other hand, his arms looked amazing. His biceps and shoulders to waist ratio was insane. 

“You think I’ll cheat at this no screens thing,” she said, trying to focus on her point as he flexed slightly by lifting his coffee cup. He smirked. _ Oh shit. He’d caught her looking... _

“Well, I do now,” he said, grinning, when his phone rang. “Obviously, you’re thinking it. Hold on,” he said. She nodded and listened as he talked to someone from work about metrics. Or metronomes. She wasn’t paying attention, so much as she was watching the slow rise and fall of his chest and wondering while not making it obvious. Hopefully. “Jen wants to say hi,” he said, handing her the phone.

“Oh.” She was surprised. “Hello?” Darcy said.

“Hi, sweetie!” Jen trilled in her ear. “How are you feeling?”

“Lousy,” Darcy said. “I have a headache and I’m dying of boredom. I miss TV.” Next to her, Brock shook his head.

“You watch TV, your headache will be worse,” he said, sipping coffee. Darcy stuck her tongue out, then wondered if that was suggestive? He snorted. He turned his attention to his laptop and she looked at him closely as Jen asked how things were going. He didn’t seem interested. Not really. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Was she relieved? She thought being relieved would be more definite. She thought maybe she’d be mad if he was carting her around like this totally platonically. He ought to be interested in her, her brain supplied, to lecture her that much about health and safety. Otherwise, he was just hassling her--his innocent coworker!--about vegetables, right? Maybe her head injury was making her confused.

“Brock is being mean to me,” Darcy confided to Jen, just to see his response. “Send an extraction team, please!” That made him chuckle. 

“You poor thing,” Jen said. “We all thought you two’d gone off for a sex week--”

“W-what?” Darcy said.

“--until Jack told us you were really injured,” she said. 

“Oh,” Darcy said, trying to think of what to say. “Nooo,” she added slowly. “Really injured.” Brock lifted an eyebrow in inquiry, but she shook her head and he went back to his work, eyes on the screen, as she chatted with Jen. When she hung up, he looked at her.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You know, if you need to go back to work—”

“Nope,” he said crisply.

“Well, you’re working now,” Darcy pointed out, thinking that would sway him. “I hate that you used your PTO if you’re going to work on stuff.”

“Good point,” Brock said, shutting the laptop with a definite click. “I won’t let them get unpaid work out of me.” He moved the laptop to his nightstand and rolled over to face her. “What do you want to do, sweetheart? You’ve got my full attention.”

“Huhmmm,” Darcy stammered. His expression was so warm, she felt a little fluttery. _ Damn it, _ she thought. _ I need a distraction. _ It was irrational, but she really wanted to kiss him. And she was only going to kiss him if she was sure of him. She wasn’t going to be the first one to make a move. Nope. She felt vulnerable and embarrassed enough lately. “Why don’t you color with me?” she said, raising an eyebrow. He frowned slightly.

“Okay, yeah,” he said. They were coloring when he chuckled dryly. 

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“I like your swear word thing,” he said. “Do you think my u is good?” Darcy leaned over to look at the _ fuck _he was coloring in.

“I think it needs more blue,” she said.

“Blue?” he asked, mouth curling slightly. “You think it needs to be more blue? My fuck?”

“Yeah, your fuck needs more more blue,” she joked back. Was it her imagination or was his voice warm? Maybe flirtatious?

“I thought it was blue enough in my fucking life,” he said. She reached over and whacked him gently with Mr. Cheddar. 

“Oh, yeah, you’re so lonely,” she snarked, feeling herself blush. “You.”

“What’s that mean? I can’t be lonely?” he said, smirking. Darcy looked at him. “I’m lonely sometimes, sweetheart,” Brock said, smile falling away. His expression went serious. Darcy inhaled slightly, eyes locked on his. Impulsively, she leaned forward, cupped his face, and kissed him. For a few fleeting seconds, she felt him respond eagerly, but then he pulled back. 

“Darcy--” he said. His expression was serious. He swallowed. “You’re injured.” He pulled a face.

“Oh,” she said, realizing he must not want her. Not really. She glanced away, eyes moving to her dark, silent bedroom TV and shifted her body away. “Sorry. I--I shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “I’m obviously going stir-crazy,” she said, laughing awkwardly in embarrassment and shame. She heard him sigh, but she purposefully wouldn’t look at him for a minute. He was holding the hand she’d touched his face with very gently. “Can we just listen to some TV or something?” she asked.

“You want to listen to some TV?” he said quietly. His voice was serious. She didn’t know what to do or say; she was absolutely focused on the damn blank TV screen. _ I will not cry because he’s just rejected me, I will not cry, _she thought. She nodded. “Okay,” he said in that same serious voice. “I’ll go--I’ll go do that,” he said. She listened to him moving and only looked over when he was leaving the room. He half-glanced back, a grimace on his features. That pained expression told her everything she needed to know. This was absolutely the worst rejection of her life: she was stuck on crutches, she had a headache, and she’d just been snubbed while wearing pajamas with little dinosaurs on them. 

“Ughhhhh,” Darcy huffed. “My life sucks,” she told the assembled Hello Kitties on her nightstand in a whisper. She flopped her head back and stared at the ceiling.

“MSNBC?” Brock called from the living room. 

“Sure,” Darcy said. She listened to him in the living room. “I miss Soapnet,” she told Witch Hello Kitty mournfully. “Today feels like the kind of day where you watch people pretend to be their presumed-dead twin on _ General Hospital _or something.”

She made sure to turn her body away before he came back to the bedroom. “Volume okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She felt the bed settle with his body weight.

“Darcy,” he began with a sigh.

“Oh, please don’t,” she said, quick to stop whatever awkward apology he was about to give her. “You really don’t need to say that--” She stopped talking when his arm went around her tightly. 

“What is it you think I’m gonna say?” he said, breath soft against her ear.

“It’s not me, it’s you? You don’t do relationships?” she offered, gazing down at his forearm. _ God, he had fantastic arms. How did he make that arm vein thing look hot? _ He started to laugh. “What?” she said.

“We’ll talk about this conversation a lot when you’re well,” he said, sounding amused. To Darcy’s complete and utter surprise, he leaned over and laughingly kissed the side of her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We talk a lot about Chris Evans' shoulder-to-waist ratio, but have we discussed Frank Grillo's enough? I fear not! An illustration:  
https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/188567904913


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Hey--” she began, turning her head. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to restrain myself from injuring you by jumping your bones, baby,” he said. “You’ve got a boot on your foot and a bump on your head, sex is probably a risky behavior.” He was smirking and nuzzling her.

“Oh. _ Oh.” _She looked at him in surprise. “Really?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, grinning at her.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” she confessed.

“I got that impression when you refused to look at me,” he said, hands sliding under her pajamas. “So, I thought I would clarify.” The drag of his stubble was pleasantly scratchy against her neck. Darcy sighed and relaxed into his arms. He was stroking her belly gently. Then she had a thought.

“Just what kind of sex do you have?” she wondered aloud. He burst out laughing.

“The kind you’re not ready for yet,” he said.

“Who says?” she asked. “I could be ready.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, kissing her gently.

They were still arguing about it that afternoon. “I compromised on the Pop Tarts!” Brock was insisting, when Darcy scoffed.

“Bribing someone with Pop Tarts because you refuse to get naked with them isn’t fair,” Darcy complained, rubbing his bicep. When he sighed, she leaned over and planted kisses on his arm. 

“You gotta stop doing stuff like that,” he grumbled. “You’re too affectionate.”

“You think I’m too affectionate?” she said, making her voice offended. She rested her chin against his arm.

“For now. You’re too affectionate for now,” he said, stressing the last two words. “You’re gonna kill me if I have to wait until that boot is off.” He was looking down at her other hand, draped over his belly. Darcy giggled at his petulant expression.

“Don’t you want to die happy?” she teased, sliding her hand down a fraction. He started to laugh again, then rolled on his side abruptly and started kissing her. She was very into that, she’d discovered, sometime around noon. “Now who’s too affectionate?” she asked, between kisses. 

“I’m a naturally affectionate person,” he huffed, as she wrapped her arm around his back. He ran warm from the HYDRA serums, but the thing that really thrilled her was how muscular he was.

“Uh-huh,” she said, grinning. “I’ve heard about how naturally affectionate you are with women, it’s sort of notorious.” He snorted and then leaned in gently.

“Look at you, askin’ around,” Brock said, smirking. 

“I was warned!” Darcy said, laughing, before she planted a kiss on his collarbone. He sighed. 

“I don’t wanna risk hurting you,” he said. He’d been saying that every five minutes, all afternoon. Usually after she’d put her hands all over him.

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. But she wasn’t just going to comply with his hovering routine now, either.

“Are you sure you’re okay in there alone?” he called through the bathroom door. 

“Yes!” Darcy said. She’d insisted on some time alone in the bathroom. He’d helped her cover her boot with a trash bag so she could take a brief shower, too. Now she was checking to make sure her boot was dry and putting on clean clothes. “It’s so nice to be clean,” she called out, patting water out of her hair with a towel. He’d dragged a dining chair into her bathroom for her.

“Lemme come in with you,” he said. “C’mon, I don’t want you to fall, sweetheart.”

“Hold on, just a sec,” she said, swiping on some lip balm. She was vain enough to want to look prettier, now that he was kissing her constantly. It was bad enough that he’d seen her with bedhead and morning breath before. “Okay,” she called out. He opened the door and sucked in a breath.

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” she said, voice innocent. She purposefully avoided looking down at the lingerie she was wearing.

“Those are not the pajamas I got you,” he said, gesturing to the bit of fabric.

“Oh. This thing? I thought you might enjoy it, babe,” she said. He made an audible grumbling noise. 

“I can’t--I--” he began. She raised her eyebrow. “I’m getting you different pajamas,” he said finally, sighing. “That thing is a health hazard.”

“It’s leopard!” she insisted, readjusting the thin straps. “You don’t think it looks nice?” she asked, when he came back with some full coverage set of unsexy pjs. “Those are winter pajamas,” she said. He tilted his head at her and made a vaguely ominous face, but wouldn’t say anything. “Okay, fine, make me wear Vermont Country Store flannel granny pajamas. Did you want to help me change now?” she asked, letting herself smirk.

“Stop fucking with me, it’s just mean,” he complained. He licked his lips and inhaled slightly. “God, you look amazing in that. I gotta get out of this room,” he said finally.

“Thank you!” Darcy called, catching the pajamas as he tossed them and moved away. She repressed a giggle as she changed. It was like she was a zoo lion. He’d tossed something at her and fled.

“Stop laughing!” he yelled from somewhere in her bedroom. 

“What are you doing?” Darcy said a few minutes later. He’d put her back in bed and then stolen some of her cheddar. “You hate cheese,” she said. He glared at her, chewing.

“I’m stress eating,” he grumbled. “You’re making me stress eat. I can’t believe you put on fucking lingerie.”

“I’m wearing the granny flannels!” Darcy told him. “Look, the collar goes all the way up to here!” She gestured. 

“It’s in my head now,” he said. She grinned.

“Which one?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“I could call Clint and Jack to come hang out with us?” she offered.

“No,” he said. “We’ll get those damn coloring books.”

“Aww,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You’re sweet.” He smiled. Her phone rang. “Can I answer that?” It was Jack.

“Sure. Talk to Jack,” Brock said. 

“Hi, Jack!” Darcy said, at the sound of his voice. “Did you know Brock liked me? I didn’t know.” Next to her, Brock sighed. 

“I bloody knew it,” Jack said. “He tried to say he was just taking care of you, darl, but we all knew.”

“Oooooh,” Darcy said. “Jack says you denied it, but he knew.”

“I--I didn’t,” Brock sputtered. “Give me the phone,” he said. When Darcy handed it over, he barked into the receiver. “Listen, you fucking kangaroo--”

“That’s mean,” Darcy said. She readjusted her pillows and looked over as he continued fussing at Jack. “Don’t do that,” she scolded, holding her hand out. He passed the phone back with a huff. “Sorry, Jack,” Darcy said. “He’s a little grumpy but it’s his own fault for refusing to have sex with me--”

“Oh God, don’t tell him that,” Brock said in a groan, covering his eyes. 

“He thinks I’m fragile,” Darcy said. Jack was laughing on the other end. 

“He’s bloody in love with you,” he said finally. “Have mercy on him, Darce.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, perking up.

“What did he say?” Brock asked, shifting at her tone. He was watching alertly as she hung up.

“Nothing, honey,” she said, patting his arm gently. “Don’t worry. Finish your coloring.”

“All right,” he said. He was coloring in a different swear word--_ fuck _had been abandoned as too suggestive--when he looked up. “He said something, though, right?” 

“That you’re very fond of me,” Darcy said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said. She kissed his bicep again. He smiled, but then his smile fell a little.

“I could have murdered Barton when I found you on the damn floor,” he said grimly. “That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” she asked.

“How I felt,” he said, sounding preoccupied. He paused, swallowed. Darcy decided she’d tortured him enough for the day and didn’t press any further. “Whaddya think of this?” he asked. 

“Ooooh, sweet,” she said. “I’ve never seen such a pretty bullshit, babe.”

“Thank you,” he said, evidently pleased with himself. “I’m kinda artistic, right?” 

“You’re great with colors,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of hidden talents I don’t know about--”

“Don’t say it,” he grumbled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Everything was going according to plan: Brock had slid his arms from around Darcy without waking her when his alarm went off at four-thirty, then gotten quietly in the shower. With any luck, he could sneak out while she slept, Romanoff would be waiting to keep an eye on Darcy, and then he could rendezvous with the two of them at nine. It was a good plan. He opened the bathroom door slowly, wrapped in a towel. He’d left the room dark on purpose, so it took him a second to see that the wheelchair next to the bed was occupied. “Where are you going?” she said, arms crossed. Darcy was sitting in her wheelchair. She turned on the light and frowned at him.

“Shit.”

“If you won’t have sex with me, I deserve to be taken out,” Darcy said, blocking Brock’s path to the door. “For non-sex activities.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I’ve got a six am training class to teach. Romanoff should be here any minute, I thought you could rest--”

“I’m bored,” she said. Her expression was pouty. “You get to go out and do things and see television and I’m just stuck here like an invalid! And you know what, I don’t need to be this restricted. NPR had an article that says no screens for two days because of headaches, not further concussions. NPR wouldn’t lie--”

“Darcy,” he said slowly. “Where did you read that?” Her expression fell.

“Fuckdoodle,” she muttered.

“You stole my phone?” he said wryly. 

“I just looked for concussion duration articles, okay? I’m dying here. I need TV! There are whole Netflix seasons happening without me. This is making me crazy.”

“You’re not really dying,” he said, trying to be calm. She’d be mad if he laughed at her. Even if she was adorably wound up.

“Uh-huh,” she said, “but you should know that I can either be _ very _ nice to you when I’m well or not so nice.” She glared at him, narrowing her eyes. “You want some of this in the future?” She gestured and cupped her chest.

“Did you just squeeze your boobs?” Brock said, laughing in spite of himself.

“And I’m gonna be the only one who does,” she said. “I swear to God, Brock Rumlow. I will end you--”

He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. “Darcy Elizabeth Lewis,” he said. “Get in that damn bed.” He smirked.

“And?” she said. “Am I getting sex?” She gave him a frankly eager look. It was difficult to resist that face, even with bedhead and pillow marks across her cheek. 

“You are not medically cleared for all this,” he joked, gesturing to his bare torso.

“I wanna be,” she said, biting her lip. “Can we talk to a doctor about when I’m cleared?”

“You want to go talk to a SHIELD physician about when we can have sex?” Brock said, watching as she toyed with the edge of his towel.

“Yup,” she said, grinning. “There’s got to be _ some _kind of sex we can have, hmmm?”

“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head. That was a thought. What could they do? Darcy tugged at his towel. He hadn’t wanted to pressure her for anything since she was injured. He inhaled sharply when she pressed her mouth against the sensitive skin below his belly button. “Honey,” he said, torn between guilt and desire.

“How early is your meeting?” she was saying, unwrapping the towel, when they were interrupted by the doorbell.

“That’s Romanoff,” Brock said.

“Damn it,” Darcy said. He re-wrapped the towel and she sighed. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“I’ll get that,” he said.

“Why do you have to be so ethical? I’m helpless and vulnerable! Where’s your inner HYDRA sleaze?” she called, as he walked away.

“He retired!” Brock called back. He let in Natasha. “Our patient’s being difficult today,” he said.

“He’s refusing to sleep with me, Tasha, kick him!” Darcy yelled. Brock turned back and grinned. 

“Is that right?” Romanoff said. She looked at him with a small smile. “Why are you refusing to sleep with Darcy?” she asked.

“She’s injured!” Brock said, putting his hands up. “What do I look like?”

“A disappointment!” Darcy yelled, making him laugh. "All abs, no action!"

“You could at least wear clothes,” Romanoff told him. 

“I heard that,” Darcy said, wheeling out to the bedroom door. “Brock, come get dressed. In here with me,” she added. He went back into the bedroom, dressed, and kissed her goodbye. 

“Romanoff, make her behave,” Brock said, when he'd pushed Darcy out into the living room.

“Natasha and I will be fine,” Darcy said, too-innocently. Brock shook his head.

“I can tell you’re planning something,” Brock said. “But this is a trained SHIELD agent. She follows rules. She’s not going to cooperate with your sex ambush.”

“Who says I’m going to sex ambush you?” Darcy pouted. “I could sex ambush somebody else! Someone less responsible.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said, wryly, reaching for his work duffel bag.

“Rodriguez?” Darcy said.

“Very handsome,” Romanoff said.

“And very dead, if he lays a hand on you,” Brock said, frowning.

“We wheelchair raced,” Darcy said to Tasha. Then she sighed. “Shit. He is scared of you, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Brock said, kissing her forehead. “Everyone’s scared of me. No other men for you.” He smirked, then wagged a finger. “Don’t even consider it.”

“Drat,” Darcy said. “Okay, plan B. I’m going to seduce Jen.”

“She’s scared of me, too, but I like where your head’s at,” Brock said, going to the door. “We’ll revisit when you’re well. Romanoff, I’ll be in my office at nine. Don’t let her get you in trouble,” he told Natasha. She nodded.

“I will bring her to you,” she said. 

“And not too much TV!” he said.   
  


***

“Can I do this?” Darcy said, passing the illustrated sex guide to the doctor. Next to her, Natasha frowned. They were in SHIELD's medical office.

“Could you do that before?” Tasha asked, leaning towards the desk to peer at the image.

“No, but he’s got good upper body strength, I wanna try it,” Darcy said. “Brock Rumlow,” she added. “That's who I'm seeing. He’s worried about my ankle injury.”

“You want to do this with Commander Rumlow?” the physician said. “Not Agent Romanoff?”

“No,” both women said.

“We’re not together,” Darcy explained. “But Brock doesn’t want to have sex until I’m medically cleared.”

“I’m just babysitting while he’s in a meeting,” Natasha said. “Can I see that?” She gestured for the guide. Dr. Thompson passed it back to her. “Thank you,” Natasha said, flipping the pages.

“Brock thinks I need babysitting after the concussion thing,” Darcy said.

“I think this would be safer,” Natasha said. She passed the book to Darcy. 

“This one?” Darcy asked.

“Yes,” Natasha said. “She’s not field trained,” she added, looking at the doctor. Dr. Thompson still looked baffled. She’d looked baffled when Darcy had arrived for this drop-in clinic hour. They’d had different doctors for Clint’s shooting and the concussion.

“I have no muscles,” Darcy confessed. “What about this one?”

“That’s a good one,” Natasha said, “no stress on your ankle, very gentle.”

“Well--” the physician began, when there was an agitated knock at the door. Brock Rumlow swung the door open, stepping around the medical receptionist.

“Commander, she’s with a patient--” the medical receptionist said, frowning. 

“I know she’s with a patient, the patient is my girlfriend--” Brock began, then stopped. “What happened?” he said. “Somebody told me they saw you coming in here.”

“Nothing,” Natasha said. “She had a question, I brought her here.”

“It was a sex question,” Darcy said. “Great news: I can have sex again! Well, the first time with you and all. Come look at these diagrams.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brock said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just felt like writing some silly, boob-squishing fluff.
> 
>   

> 
>   



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy was laying back on the bed, her head supported by pillows. He’d very carefully undressed her. “Why can’t I undress you?” she complained to Brock. 

“I got this,” he mumbled. His voice was difficult to hear. He had his shirt over his head. 

“You look _ great,” _she said dreamily. 

“Huh?” he said, pulling the shirt fully off. She grinned happily. She’d only had to spend all day sex begging and harassing him. And kissing him. Nice work if you could get it. 

“You look great,” she repeated. He smiled, but then his smile fell.

“Are you warm enough? You’ve got goosebumps,” he said, unbuttoning his pants.

“Definitely,” she said, sitting up on her elbows. “I’m really warm, babe,” she said, mock-leering at him. “Soooooo warm.” She had goosebumps because was excited. Also, she was sweating.

“Be serious,” he said, wrestling one pants leg off.

“Okay,” she said, screwing up her face. “I vill now be very serious about the intercourse,” she said, doing a German accent. “We must have intercourse on the schedule!” He shook his head, laughing.

“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Brock said.

“And yet, still, you find me adorable,” she said, “c’mere.” She gestured. 

“I must be the crazy one,” he said, climbing gently onto the bed. Very carefully, he shifted on top of her. Darcy smiled and craned her neck so their lips could meet. He kissed her hesitantly, then pressed his mouth to hers. 

“Mmmm,” she said, reaching for his shoulders. Then she realized something: he was holding himself above her, like he was planking or doing pushups. It was impressive--his arms weren’t even shaking!--but not exactly romantic. “Um, Brock?” she said. “Are you going to, uh, actually participate or just, you know, hover?”

“I don’t wanna crush you,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, you’re gonna crush me with all these muscles,” she said, running her hands over him. Darcy held his waist and squeezed. “If you get down here, I might actually _ die _of being smothered in hotness, we can’t let that happen. You’d be arrested. It’d be murder!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. He was smiling, though. 

“First degree or second degree sex murder, I wonder?” Darcy said. “You’d probably have a lot of enemies in pris--” she added, before he cut her off with another kiss. She felt him sink down slowly.

“Good?” he said, voice low and hoarse.

“Yeah,” she said, unable to mask her delight. “Can we take off your underwear now, though? I feel like that’s crucial,” she said. She slid her hands down from his low back. “God, you’re so cute,” she sighed out. “I don’t even mind that your boxer briefs are camo.”

“What’s wrong with camo?” he said, dragging his eyes--and one hand--away from her boobs. 

“It’s the worst print,” she said.

“How?” he said.

“It puts you one beard shy of a _ Duck Dynasty _episode,” she teased, then stuck her tongue out at his wounded expression. Darcy laughed. “See, once I annoy you again, you won’t think I’m so precious,” she said gleefully.

“But I do,” he said, with a kind of straightforward sincerity.

“W-what?” Darcy said.

“I do think you’re precious,” he said. 

“Seriously?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. He was frowning a little.

“You’re not joking?” Darcy said.

“No. What’s wrong with that?” he said. 

“I--I--don’t know,” Darcy said, flummoxed, “hold on, I need a minute.” Her chest--or something inside her chest--felt tight all of a sudden.

“Okay,” he said, rolling over. He held her hand and kissed it gently. “Darcy?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been with anybody who thought I was precious before,” she wondered aloud. “Wow.” 

“Honey,” he said gently. “I do--” he began, but she cut him off with a kiss. She wasn’t sure if she could handle it. His sincerity. It kinda freaked her out. She pulled back abruptly. “What?” he said, looking stunned and turned on at the same time.

“I believe you. But the set of emotions I’m used to from other people, especially male people, are--” she began, pausing to check off on her fingers, “friendly politeness, sarcasm, passive aggressive criticism _ disguised _as sarcasm, boob engagement--”

“Boob engagement?” he said.

“When the boobs are the primary locus of attention,” she said. She put a finger over his mouth. “Don’t object, I’m trying to get this out.”

“Okay,” he said, lips brushing her fingertip.

“I’ve also received lust, joke appreciation, the occasional interest in my academic and intellectual opinions, and generally being ignored in favor of better-looking women. So--” she stuttered a little-- “so, precious is a new and scary one. I’m just realizing that now. Shit.”

“Did I fuck up somehow?” he said slowly, appearing to process her list.

“No, no, I’m the fucked up one at the moment. You’re good.” She smiled at him. “You’re actually precious. C’mere.” She ruffled his hair and coaxed him on top of her again.

They were very careful. He was very careful of her injured ankle and Darcy was more careful of her newly cracked-open heart. She felt like she could cry of some new, raw emotion. And he’d think he’d hurt her, she worried. “You okay?” he said, moving her leg gently. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, “that feels amazing, oh God.” It did feel amazing. His mouth trailed gently over her body. Every time he touched her, it was amazing. Because she felt open and vulnerable. It was like being naked in front of someone for the first time. Or mildly shocked. When she came, her whole body was shaking. 

“Did I--?” he said, looking up. His expression was worried.

“No, no,” she said. “I’m not hurt.” She looked at him. “I think I love you,” Darcy told him, half-terrified, half-daring. It was scary to say it. He smiled.

“Yeah?” he said. “I’m pretty lovable.” He smirked. “See? I can do sarcasm,” he said. Darcy was torn between laughter and offense.

“Hey, I was being sincere,” she said, swatting at him. “Get in me, you ass.”

“What?” he said, laughing loudly. “Get in me?”

“I say that sincerely,” she said.

“I’m not going to object,” he said, moving to push himself inside her. She moaned. 

  
  


***

“Okay, wheel me around that tank again,” Darcy said. Brock had taken her to the aquarium in her wheelchair. He’d decided she needed an outing. Also, they’d been having so much sex that things had gotten a little heated. They’d done pages thirty through forty two without injury, but Brock was concerned and had used the word “deescalate,” like their sex life was an arms’ race. They both tended to get carried away in the moment. Darcy was more concerned that she was hopelessly, stupidly gone on him. Jane was so going to make fun of her when she found out that Darcy had actually cried when he’d been gone for an afternoon for a meeting. Natasha had promised not to tell anyone, but still. She was bubbling over with all kinds of weirdo emotions. It totally explained why Jane had sat on the couch crying over Thor, though. Maybe she should lead with that, Darcy thought. That Brock Rumlow was her own London episode. 

“Why this one?” he said.

“Look at this little eel, I think he looks like Jack,” Darcy said. 

“Oh, yeah,” Brock said. “Take a picture of that little bastard.” She took out her phone camera and clicked away, giggling.

“Oh, Clint texted me a picture of ideas for decorating my walker basket, when I get one,” Darcy said. 

“You’re finally convinced?” Brock said. He’d wanted her on something safer than crutches for a bit, once her ankle improved. This, Darcy thought, was inevitable, because he kept terrifying her physical therapists and micromanaging her stretching and exercises. 

“It’s semi-inspired by those frat boy beer can hats,” Darcy said brightly. “He says he can line the basket with a whole six pack and a really long bendy straw.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Brock said with a kind of maddening calmness that startled the person next to them.

“He’s kidding,” Darcy said. “Our friend will be fine.”

“You want to go look at the stingray again?” Brock said, wheeling her away from the nervous-looking tourist. “What about us?” he asked her.

“Huh?” Darcy said.

“We gonna be fine?” he said lightly.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “We’re so fine. You’re really fine--”

“Thank you,” Brock said.

“You’re welcome, babe. But I’m totally corrupting your team.”

“Yeah?” he said, sounding curious. 

“I’ve already decided on Hawaiian shirt and margarita day--Jen suggested that, she likes Hawaiian shirts for some reason, and once I’ve got the walker, I’m going to start baking them stuff, really win them over to my side,” Darcy said. 

“They’re already on your side,” he said. He sounded wistful.

“What is it?” she said, turning her head in concern.

“You’re, uh, not going to ditch me when you’re well, are you?” he said quietly.

“What?!” Darcy shrieked. “Why would you even think that?” she asked. People stared.

“Shhhh,” he said. “I just thought, we got together when you were hurt, maybe once you’re well--”

“Oh em gee, do you not realize how much sex I have planned?” Darcy said. Several people gaped at her. Including Brock. “Like, I definitely wanted to do page seventy-three,” she said, grinning brightly. “Also, I’m totally, like, in love with you, so don’t even think about jumping out of any planes without my permission. I’ve already told Hill and Fury that I sign all your field trip permission slips now.”

“Yeah?” he said, looking stunned and happy. 

“I sent them a memo, Clint delivered it in person,” she said. “Also, we’re fast-tracking an application for costumes on Halloween--”

“Costumes?” Brock said.

“I’m getting resistance, but I anticipate winning,” Darcy said. “What do you think about something sparkly on my walker instead of beer cans?”

“I’m going to insist on it,” he said.

“I wonder if that would be a DWI,” Darcy mused. “The beer cans on a walker?”

“Uh-huh, I got that,” he said. “You want to see more fish?”

“Yes,” Darcy said happily. “Did you know March 6th is Middle Name Pride Day?”

“Is that right?” he said.

“Do you have a middle name?” she asked.

“That is, uh, classified,” Brock said. He looked awkward.

“Is it Mike?” she said.

“Brock Mike?” he said.

“Okay, Brock Michael?” Darcy said.

“No, thank God,” he said. “Guess again.”

“Lee,” she said, giggling. “Brock Lee?”

“This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?” he said. He sighed. 

“What?” Darcy said.

“It’s Calgero,” Brock said. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “It’s what?” 

“Very old, very traditional Sicilian name,” Brock said. 

“Hang on,” Darcy said. “I gotta google the meaning of that, in case it’s---oh my God!” 

“What?” he said, alarmed.

“It’s _ perfect,” _Darcy said, evidently delighted. Her giggle was ominous.

“Really?” he said. She scrunched her nose. “You look too happy, why do you look so happy?” he asked. 

“From the Late Latin name Calogeros,” Darcy read aloud, “from the Greek _ kalos_, or beautiful, and _ geron, _ which means old man or elder, so beautiful elder--”

“You’re shitting me,” Brock said.

“--this was the name of a 5th century saint, a hermit of Sicily,” she finished.

“Fuck,” he grumbled. “That’s the one.”

“Beautiful old man,” Darcy said, snorting. 

“What does your name mean?” he said.

“It means my mother read entirely too much Jane Austen,” she said. “But I will not be distracted from the business at hand, Calgero.”

“You won’t, huh?” he said. He sighed. 

“Well, not at the aquarium, later I might be amenable,” Darcy said. She smiled up at him. “You really live up to your name, babe. Even from this angle. Nobody’s chin looks this good from this angle, mine is all jiggly--”

“No, it isn’t,” he said.

“Oh, it’s a Will Smith video from the late nineties up in mine,” she said, humming to herself. “Nah nah nah--”

“I like your chin,” he said, sounding oddly defensive. 

“Pffhhht,” Darcy said. “Wheel me past my fish buddy again, I want you to take my picture doing fish face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I'm DEAD. 
> 
> I gave Brock the middle name Calgero in a tumblr fic last year, just 'cause it's an old-fashioned Sicilian name--Chazz Palminteri's name, natch. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699337/chapters/45264775)
> 
> AND  
_ I didn't even know it meant that _ until now. 
> 
> Total coincidence! Or fanfic kismet, whatevs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Is that JJ Cale?” Darcy said to Clint. She was propped up on the couch, waiting for all her Get Well party guests to arrive. Jane and Thor were even supposed to come. Clint had volunteered to set up her iPod speakers and DJ so she wouldn’t need to steer the walker to the other side of the room. 

“Yeah,” Clint said, turning up Cale singing “Call me the Breeze.” He was dressed like Magnum, PI. He even had his own fake ‘stache. Darcy grinned and wiggled along. “I thought it went with your theme,” he said. She’d picked a 70s theme party, just to buy tacky decorations and make Brock roll his eyes. Also, a built-in reason to have mai tais in funny glasses. Another reason he was making her sit down. The walker was parked next to her, festooned with plastic tropical flowers and several mini disco balls. They reflected off of her costume. She’d bought the sparkly jumpsuit because the flared legs hid her sturdiest sneakers; Brock had insisted.

“Let’s play the cocaine song? The one from the  _ Starsky & Hutch _ remake?” Darcy said. “I wonder what Owen Wilson’s doing now--” she mused, until the song came on and she sang along, off-key. 

“Barton, I’m worried you’re a bad influence,” Brock said dryly. He was setting up more snacks.

“Pffht, like I need drugs to be energetic,” Darcy said. 

“I am not,” Clint said, at the same time. “Who brought the decal tropical scene?” One wall of the apartment now had a beach vista. Darcy had decided she liked the palm trees.

“Clint did!” Darcy said, clapping. “I’m leaving it up.”

“Did you give her another mai tai?” Brock said. “Nobody’s even here yet.”

“No,” Clint lied. 

“You won’t let me do walker disco again,” Darcy said, mildly affronted. She’d practiced a whole routine and then he’d fretted.

“You rolled dangerously when you tried to do that kick,” Brock said. “Here have some of these.” He brought her a bowl filled with Chex mix and popcorn.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “I’m very sad that Ding Dongs are the only 70s-era snacks they still make, but I appreciate your concern for my welfare and my snack supply.” She meant it sincerely but, Brock frowned and looked distinctly skeptical.

“Fuck, how drunk are you?” he grumbled. “Barton!”

“Don’t growl at Clint,” Darcy said, at Clint’s dismayed noise. “I’m responsible for my own period-appropriate party behavior, sir.” She attempted to bat her eyelashes, but failed miserably. Clint started to laugh.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said. “She was practicing after I helped her with the eyeshadow and I think it’s actually better when she’s tipsy, Rumlow.”

“Blue frosted!” Darcy told Brock. “Clint’s good at makeup.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said.

“I’m thinking of making this my look--” Darcy said.

“I like it,” Clint said, nodding approvingly. “It’s festive.”

“What do you think, babe?” she asked Brock.

“I think I love you,” he told her, leaning down and kissing her. Then he paused and sniffed. “What’s that? You smell..different.”

“Different good? Or different bad?” she asked. “It’s Opium.”

“It’s my aunt’s favorite,” Clint said.

“From nineteen seventy-seven,” Darcy explained, “but it’s a lot to live up to, Clint’s aunt is much fancier than me.”

“That’s true,” Clint said. “She’s a little fancy.”

“I thought your family were with a carnival?” Brock said.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Aunt Cheryl told fortunes.”

“Do you think she could teach me or is it a gift?” Darcy asked.

“Oh,” Brock said slowly. There was a roll of thunder outside and Darcy perked up immediately.

“Ohhh, Jane’s here! Jane’s here!” she said. “This is so exciting. I’m so glad you can meet each other, babe.” Darcy stood up wobbily.

“Whoa, whoa.” Brock said, as she grabbed her walker and steered around the coffee table. “No speeding!” He trailed her, hovering, as she threw open the door and waved and Jane and Thor across the parking lot. Thor had landed next to a Lexus sedan with Mew-Mew and set off the car alarm.

“Whoops,” Darcy said. “I forget he does that.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said, putting his hands on her waist as the alarm screeched planitively. Darcy leaned against him. She felt him sigh in her hair. They watched as Thor shrugged in embarrassment and Jane left a Post-It on the hood. She wiggled closer to Brock and felt him tighten his grip.

“I love you,” Darcy said, suddenly wanting to say it. “So, please be okay with them?”

“Of course,” he said. There was a pause. “I love you, too,” Brock said. From the living room, she heard Clint snicker.

“You shush, Clint P. T. Barton,” she scolded. 

“Clint P.T. Barton,” Brock repeated, grinning.

“Har har,” Clint said.

“Hey!” Jane yelled.

“Darcy!” Thor boomed.

“Hey!” Darcy yelled to them. “Come meet Brock before he makes me go to bed early!”

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments and kudos on this one! It's genuinely one of my favorite AUs and I'm going to miss these two goobers!


End file.
